Eight Death Eater Christmases
by Jemennuie
Summary: Eight small groups of Death Eaters, all celebrating Christmas in their own way. Not crack. Ch8: Draco and Theo play chess, while Narcissa and Snape argue with the Lestranges about dinner. One-shot collection starring Lucius and including: Avery & Mulciber, Alecto & Amycus, Nott & Dolohov, Pettigrew & Macnair, Rookwood, Yaxley & Selwyn and Rowle & Gibbon. Complete.
1. Peter & Macnair

A/N: These one-shots vary in how serious or funny they are. Ch1 and Ch6 are the most serious, while Ch2 and Ch7 are the most silly, and the others are somewhere in between. All of the one-shots can stand alone, although they do make some references to each other.

...

Peter flinched at the sound of a sharp knock on the door, the thought instantaneously flying into his mind that he would much rather spend Christmas in Spinner's End alone than with Snape. A moment later it struck him that Snape wouldn't knock on his_ own_ door and he let out a weak chuckle at his own ridiculousness. When he swung the door open, it was not Lucius or Narcissa impatiently waiting, as had been his first guess, but instead the hulking form of Walden Macnair. His heavy overcoat looked moth-eaten enough that Peter wouldn't have been surprised if a few papery wings glided out from between his arms.

"Snape's not here," Peter answered matter-of-factly, but Macnair replied with a shrug before brusquely brushing past Peter into the house, leaving Peter to close the still open door behind Macnair with a frown. He had met Macnair a few times before, but this was already ranking among the longest conversation the two had ever had.

"Doesn't surprise me. Bloke's probably visiting Narcissa Malfoy. If you know what I mean." He raised an eyebrow and pulled back his lips in a yellowing grin.

"Right. Er—well," he awkwardly started, trying very hard to crush the mental image of Snape and Narcissa together that Macnair had just planted in his head. "I wouldn't know where Snape chooses to spend his time."

Macnair's boisterous laugh abruptly filled the room. "Lighten up! I didn't mean that Snape was _actually_ with Narcissa. Well, he probably is—he's probably spending Christmas with the Malfoys—but not in _that_ sense."

Peter allowed an amused smile to twitch onto his face. He wasn't quite sure why Macnair had come to Spinner's end, especially if he had known Snape wouldn't be there in the first place, but he was apparently quite oblivious to Peter's questioning glances. After what felt like minutes, but was likely only seconds, Macnair reached into one of the many pockets on his ragged coat and pulled out a deck of cards. He began idly shuffling them, occasionally cutting the deck with one hand. "Want to play a game of cards?"

Peter warily regarded Macnair for a second longer. If there was one thing he had learned from living with the Marauders at Hogwarts it was to always be careful around games that could involve gambling—otherwise one might, for example, gamble away the right to wash one's underwear for a week. Remus had pointed out that, really, if one of them lost the rights to wash their clothes, it would be negatively affect all of the Marauders, seeing as they were roommates, but they were young and had never thought that far ahead.

"Sure, I'll play cards." It wasn't exactly like Peter had other plans—as it was, pretending to be legally dead was a full time job.

"Five-card poker. Nice and simple to start," Macnair announced as he dealt.

"Pair of eights."

"Pair of tens. I win."

Macnair scooped up Peter's old cards and dealt a new hand.

"Three of a kind."

"Nothing."

A mischievous grin spread across Peter's face as he fully realized just why these cards seemed abnormal to him. Peter had never considered himself to be one of the bravest Gryffindors (what was it his mum used to say? "Bravery is another word for stupidity?"), but he certainly had a daring streak in him. It was somewhat akin to poking a lion with a sharp stick before his survival instinct kicked in and he ran away.

"I'm surprised, Macnair. These are _Muggle_ playing cards."

The metaphorical stick had apparently been too sharp for in one sudden movement Macnair had reached across the table and seized Peter bodily by the scruff of his robes. "What. Did. You. Say?"

Macnair's furious face was mere centimeters away, and Peter couldn't help but notice that the muscular man's arms were practically wider than his head. Well, he supposed he might as well go out with a bang. He doubted any Death Eater would actually risk the Dark Lord's punishment, after all. "I said: these are Muggle playing cards," he repeated, his voice coming out rather more high-pitched than he had intended.

For a second Macnair's face was frozen, contorted into the same twisted, ugly expression, but then he suddenly broke into laughter and released the scruff of Peter's robes, sliding back into his own seat. "You have guts, Peter. Yeah, they're Muggle cards. I don't like how Wizard cards talk to you when you're trying to play." He started dealing another hand before pausing to pull a cigarette out of his pocket.

"I—uh—I don't think Snape likes people smok—"

"Do I look like I care what Snape thinks?" Macnair interrupted as he held the tip of his wand to the tip of his cigarette.

"—something about flammable potions ingredients."

He plucked the cigarette from between his lips with a frown and glanced at Peter with a suspicious frown before wordlessly pocketing the still-unlit cigarette. "Pair of kings. What d'you got?"

"Two pair."

"Tell you what, let's make this a bit more interesting," Macnair stood up and began slowly walking around the room, running his fingers across the dusty books carefully lined up on Snape's bookshelves. He paused to pick up one of several small silver boxes that were resting on the mantle. "Merlin, does the man own a lot of trinkets. Almost looks like a woman lives here or something."

"I think I would've noticed by now," Peter lightly responded and, to his surprise, Macnair burst out into a booming laughter.

" 'Think you would've noticed by now'," he finished with a quiet chuckle to himself, before continuing, "Tell you what, I'll bet you two of Snape's-girly-trinket-thingys that my next hand's better than yours."

"Alright, well, I'll bet three of Snape's books that my next hand's better," Peter replied in an attempted courageous voice, as though he wasn't worrying what Snape would say if he suddenly returned home.

"That's more like it. We're playing _actual_ poker now." Macnair had almost returned to his seat when there was a sudden movement in the corner of the room, and he jerked his head in that direction. With a flash of green from his wand, whatever had been causing the movement became still. "Just a rat," he offered upon closer inspection.

A horrified expression appeared on Peter's face. "You killed a rat?"

"I guess the house must have an infestation or something," Macnair said in the closest thing he had to a pensive tone, before chuckling. "Why? Do you like rats or something?"

"Yes, I like rats!"

"You like rats?" His quiet chuckling became a booming laughter and with a slap on Peter's back he exclaimed, "The man likes rats! Who knew that anyone liked rats? You're a funny bloke, Peter."

With an annoyed frown, Peter silently slapped down a pair of cards from his poker hand. "You called me Peter," he suddenly stated, surprised

"Eh? It's your name, isn't it?"

"Well, yes, it is, but most of the Death Eaters call me Wormtail."

"I'm not calling you Wormtail. That's a ridiculous name, and you have awful taste in nicknames."

Peter stifled a chortle at the other man's frank response. "I always thought it was a bit silly, myself, but it was what my Hogwarts friends used to call me."

"Some friends."

"Yeah. They were some friends."

A knock on the door interrupted the exchange of poker cards and Peter opened the door to reveal Lucius Malfoy. "Snape's not here," Peter answered matter-of-factly, feeling as though this was all rather familiar.

"Yes, I know; Snape is at my house. I'm looking for Nott. Do you know where he is?"

"Presumably Nott is hiding from the law somewhere," Peter simply stated.

"I assumed as much, but any idea where? Walden, do you know?"

"No. Try asking Rowle or something. He doesn't even have security on his floo, you can floo right into his house. Hard to believe the bloke was in Ravenclaw as a student," Macnair chuckled.

"Hm. Very well," Lucius turned to leave before facing the room again. "What are you doing in Snape's house, Walden?" Peter paused for a second; why _was_ Macnair spending Christmas playing cards with him?

"And where else did you think I would be, Lucius?"

"If you must know, I would have hazarded that you would be with Jason Jugson. The two of you two are good friends, aren't you?"

Macnair's words came from between painfully gritted teeth. "Jason's dead. He was killed in the Azkaban break-out."

"I see," Lucius awkwardly paused to look around the room before finishing with, "Well, a good evening to both of you."

The slamming of the door left the room silent for a few moments as Macnair continued gritting his teeth, staring a hole into the opposite wall.

"I'm sorry about—" Peter finally cautiously ventured.

Macnair slammed the deck of cards into Peter's hand. "It's Christmas, and I'm going to have fun, dammit. Shut up and deal."

…

A/N: This is set during the Christmas of Harry's 6th year. Technically that makes it very slightly AU, since the main Death Eaters (Lucius, Macnair, etc.) didn't escape from Azkaban until around half a year after Christmas, but, well, it was the best timing to set the story. (The idea also stemmed from my slightly AU story "Pensieve Souls", where the Death Eaters break out from Azkaban before Christmas time.) Also, I wanted to say that I think there's nothing wrong with a man having "feminine" house decorations or vice versa; Macnair's negative comments about Snape's trinkets looking feminine were intended to show that Macnair is a bit sexist and not an entirely likable person. A quick disclaimer about Macnair, also: my visualization of him as smoking cigarettes has been impacted by VikingCarrot's fanart of him.

Constructive criticism is always appreciated!


	2. Rowle & Gibbon

A/N: As the Death Eater Gibbon has no canon first name, I've given him the first name Dmitri. The Death Eater Rowle's first name is given in canon as Thorfinn.

…

"And when I'm done, you'll have the prettiest pigtails ever!" the four-year old girl exclaimed.

"I'm not sure I want pigtails, Flora," Dmitri Gibbon slowly replied, but it was too late. Flora had begun excitedly twisting his shoulder-length hair into two crude braids, cheerfully intertwining it with several glittery pink ribbons. "Maybe, uh, maybe we can do something else while we're waiting for your Mummy to prepare Christmas dinner. Why don't we play a game?"

"You don't want me to braid your hair? You don't like my braiding?"

The girl's face was screwed up on the verge of tears and Dmitri hastily added, "No, no! I like it fine! You can keep doing that, as long as you promise to not cry!" Flora's face immediately brightened and Dmitri released a sigh of defeat, wondering just how glittery his hair would be by the time she was finished. "Your daughter has impeccable fashion taste," he dryly announced as Thorfinn entered the room and stifled a very obvious laugh at the sight.

"Flora, why don't you go see if Mummy needs any help in the kitchen," Thorfinn gently stated and, pigtails forgotten, she eagerly scampered off. "Really, I was only gone for a few minutes," Thorfinn gave Dmitri an amused smile. "If you can't babysit a four-year old for that long without getting sparkly pink ribbons and rainbow butterfly clips in your hair, that's not my problem."

Rainbow butterfly clips? Dmitri frowned. Flora hadn't warned him about those.

"I suppose I'll take this as a mental note to visit a hair cutter before I come over next," he gave a slight smile. A distant roaring sound, like a floo in use, caught both of their attentions and they looked at each other with a surprised frown. "Did you invite other family over for dinner?"

"No, we saw them for Christmas Eve instead. It's probably nothing," Thorfinn said uneasily, "But let's go check anyway."

The floo foyer was a plain, rectangular room with polished wood floors. There was a plain-looking door that led to a small closet and two landscape paintings, one of a forest, the other of a farmland. The mantle of the room's fireplace was ornately carved with decorative engravings of woodland scenes and a bottle of floo powder rested on top of the mantle.

There was also Lucius Malfoy standing in the middle of the room.

"The bloody hell are you doing in my house, Malfoy?" Thorfinn bellowed.

"Macnair was right; you don't have any security on your floo," Lucius offered as he nonchalantly continued brushing soot off of his robes. "I'm surprised; I didn't believe him, but here I am."

"What are you doing in my house?" Thorfinn repeated his alarmed exclamation.

"I'm looking for-" Lucius finally looked up and abruptly cut himself off as he saw Dmitri. Realizing it was rude to stare without explanation, he casually stated, "Interesting hairstyle, Gibbon. I didn't realize pink ribbons and butterflies were in style."

"Dammit, Thorfinn," Dmitri muttered under his breath.

"Yes, well, you two can have your lover's quarrel later. For now I want to know if either of you know where Nott is."

"No, I d—what's that sou—Merlin's beard!" Within the span of a second, Thorfinn had opened the door to the room's closet and shoved Lucius inside, before slamming the door shut. "Hello, Persephone," Thorfinn turned towards his wife as she entered the room, Flora resting on her hip.

"Do you think you could look after Flora for a bit? She's being a bit _too_ helpful in the kitchen," she gave a polite but stressed smile.

"_Too_ helpful! I didn't know that was possible," he directed his comment towards Flora with a bright smile.

"Trust me. It's possible." She sweetly gave her daughter a peck on the cheek and was holding her out to Thorfinn before she added, "What are you two doing in the floo foyer?"

"Oh, y'know," Thorfinn trailed off as he took Flora in his arms.

"I was just telling Thorfinn 'thank you' for having me over for Christmas," Dmitri hastily interrupted with a concocted explanation. "And 'thank you' to you too, Persephone. Very nice of you. Very hospitable."

"You're Thorfinn's best friend, Dmitri; I'm always happy to have you over," Persephone cheerily replied. "Well, have fun chatting."

Persephone had barely left the room when Flora pointed over Thorfinn's shoulder and exclaimed, "I want to do his hair next!"

"Malfoy! What are you doing coming out of the closet?" Thorfinn exclaimed again.

"What are you doing shoving me into the closet?" Malfoy angrily retorted, before adding, "And she is not touching my hair."

"Because—" Thorfinn clamped his hands over his daughter's ears and whispered, "Because my wife doesn't know I'm a Death Eater, alright? So I can't exactly let her see me with an escaped Death Eater from Azkaban."

"Your wife doesn't know you're a Death Eater?" Lucius incredulously repeated. "But you have to disappear for hours in the evenings for Death Eater attacks. What, does she just think that you're having an affair instead?"

"Given the number of bruises and cuts we get from attacks, that would be a pretty horrible affair if you returned home looking like that," Dmitri interjected, before thoughtfully adding. "Or a really good affair, I suppose." Lucius and Thorfinn simultaneously gave him surprised, mildly disgusted looks. "I just mean—" he awkwardly fumbled to defend himself before throwing his hands up and saying, "Okay just because you two are both married blokes with nice vanilla relationships—"

"_Anyway,_" Lucius hastily cut off the other man. "Do either of you know where I could find Nott?"

Dmitri looked mildly offended at being interrupted, but he politely replied, "I don't know, but why don't you ask one of the Death Eaters who actually helped to liberate the cell block Nott was in, unlike us? Someone like Yaxley?"

"Hm. Yes, I suppose I'll try that next. Alright, well, have a nice Christmas," Lucius awkwardly finished in a polite tone.

"You too, I suppose," Thorfinn replied in a similarly polite tone. "And next time you come out of the closet have better timing."

Dmitri stifled a laugh and earned a confused glance from both of the other men. "What, am I the only one that knows that Muggle saying-oh, never mind," he trailed off at the confused looks of the other two purebloods. "Merry Christmas to you too, Lucius."

Thorfinn and Dmitri returned to the dining room with Flora, where Persephone was laying out the final dishes of the Christmas dinner. "Mummy, there was a man hiding in the closet!" Flora cheerfully exclaimed.

"There was what?" Persephone replied, mildly alarmed. "What is she talking about, Thorfinn?"

"We were, uh, playing make believe," Dmitri hurriedly offered as an explanation, and Persephone gave an understanding expression.

"So was the man in the closet nice, Flora?" Persephone distractedly asked as she continued setting out the meal.

"Yeah. But he wouldn't let me play with his hair. And it was such pretty hair, too! It was long and blond and I could've braided it real good."

"Uh huh. I'm sure, sweetie."

…

A/N: The OC of Persephone is borrowed from the story "One Day at a Time" on another account of mine.


	3. Yaxley & Selwyn

"…and purebloods are responsible for all of the world's greatest accomplishments. They create the most beautiful paintings, the most engrossing literature, the fastest methods of transportation, the most exciting sports, the—"

"That's excellent, Deimos, but don't forget to give your cousins time to make their presentations," Selwyn gently chided his eldest son.

"Yes, Father." Deimos demurely took his seat at the long table, around which were seated over a dozen other extended family members.

"Well? Go on, Phobos," Yaxley ushered a nervous-looking boy towards the front of the table.

The not-yet Hogwarts-aged boy, gave a nervous gulp as his gaze shifted between his father, his mother, his uncle, his aunt, his cousins, his grandparents—perhaps it _was _possible to have family gatherings that were too large.

"I'm proud to be a Pureblood because, um," he hesitatingly started, before excitedly continuing, "Because it was Purebloods who invented sweets like Canary Creams and—and Ton-Tounge Toffees and those Headless Hats and Extendable Ears and—"

All of the adults at the table were alternating between giving Yaxley and Phobos horrified looks, and Yaxley, his face growing steadily redder finally burst out, "Phobos! Regardless of whether it's proper for a nine-year old boy like yourself to still be fascinated by mere joke items, those were not invented by Purebloods."

"They…weren't?"

"No. They were invented by blood traitors. The Weasleys are not proper purebloods," Selwyn's cold voice cut through the air.

"Oh. Um," Phobos suddenly turned his attention towards his feet, as though there was little in the world that was more fascinating.

"Madame Yaxley, Madame Yaxley!" The squeaky voice of a house-elf cut through the otherwise deadly silent room. "Madame Yaxley, someone is requesting to floo into the house. From the Rowle Residence."

"Rowle? He's another one of the Death Eaters, is he not?" Yaxley's wife wondered aloud, and Selwyn nodded. "Very well, show him in." Phobos hurriedly used the distraction to scamper to his seat and pretend that he had never been standing at the front of the table, no sir.

"Rowle, you look blonder than usual," Yaxley dryly greeted Lucius Malfoy as he strode into the room.

"Yes, there's this fantastic new hair stylist in Diagon Alley who works absolute wonders," Lucius sarcastically replied before politely adding, "I see you have company over."

Yaxley gave a slightly fatigued sigh and began gesturing around the table. "Lucius, this is Perenna, Callidora, Silas, Ophelia, Myrddin—"

"I was actually only planning to stay for a—"

"Phobos, Hadrian, Marenda, Jarlath—"

"Yaxley—"

"Quintin, Horace, Renatus, Deimos—"

"Yaxley! I would prefer to not be here all night."

"I suppose if I had allowed myself to be arrested and was currently evading the law I, too, might not be used to large groups of people," Yaxley idly replied.

"What? I'm perfectly fine with large groups of people!" Lucius spluttered. "There's a Christmas party occurring at my residence right now!"

"Yes, and funny how you aren't there."

"That's not because—!" Lucius cut himself off to take a deep breath, before coolly replying, "Well, I suppose it may seem like I have fewer house guests at any given time, seeing as my manor is so much proportionally larger than yours."

"My manor is just as large as yours, Malfoy," Yaxley retorted with a restrained civility.

"Really? Funny how the Dark Lord always prefers _my_ residence for Death Eater gatherings, then."

A vein began twitching in Yaxley's temple, and he had just opened his mouth when his wife hurriedly interjected in a perfectly polite tone, "It's such a pleasure to see you, Mr. Malfoy. Is there anything we can do for you?"

Yaxley grumbled something under his breath as Lucius politely stated, "I'm looking for Nott, and Rowle said he thought you might know where I could find him, Yaxley. Selwyn."

Selwyn stroked his chin thoughtfully while Yaxley slowly replied, "I know Nott escaped from Azkaban relatively unharmed. I saw him with Dolohov, but I don't know where they went."

Lucius sighed and squeezed the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Merlin, at this rate it was going to take him forever to find Nott. "No ideas?"

"You can try asking Carrow; he also helped liberate the cell block Nott was in. I think he lives somewhere in London."

"Oh, yes, 'somewhere in London'. Very specific, Yaxley."

"Really, I'm sure you can trace him. The Carrows are as poor as dirt; can you imagine that he would have inherited a house with an untraceable charm on it? Or inherited anything, for that matter?"

"Fine, I'll try to find Carrow."

Lucius left, and Yaxley turned back to his youngest son. "Well, Phobos, you never finished your presentation on why you're proud to be a pureblood."

Phobos nervously glanced around the table again. "Um, Honeydukes?"

...

A/N: I'm far enough along I can now say for certain that updates will be coming daily, with the exception of Christmas day.


	4. Alecto & Amycus

Lucius cautiously circled the rather small, dingy house. It was certainly a Carrow residence, although which Carrow it belonged to he wasn't sure. After the incident with Rowle and the closet, he was hesitant to simply knock on the front door, in case someone else lived in the house and didn't know that Carrow associated with Death Eaters. Noticing several large windows which were elevated slightly off the ground, he carefully positioned himself to surreptitiously peer into the house, and was quite taken aback to find a woman looking back out of the window at him. She looked to be in her sixties, a colorless woman with wispy blonde hair and spindly limbs.

"Er—" Lucius awkwardly started, but the woman simply continued staring at him with her wide, watery blue eyes.

After a few seconds she waved the window open with her wand and Lucius noticed that the she was standing behind a stove top, periodically mixing the bubbling pot in front of her with a gesture of her wand. "You're that handsome young man from the Daily Prophet," she said simply after a moment. He uncertainly remained quiet. Yes, he _had_ been in the Daily Prophet numerous times, sometimes for his impact on Ministry policy, sometimes for his noteworthy charitable donations (it was important to keep the Malfoy name popular in the press, after all). "You're one of the Azkaban escapees." Oh yes, his picture had also been in the Daily prophet for being an escaped Azkaban convict. He had forgotten about that one.

The door to the kitchen suddenly slammed open and Lucius heard a voice say, "Hey, M—alfoy!" The startled face of Alecto Carrow appeared at the window and she repeated her exclamation, "Malfoy, what're you doin' here?"

"Looking in your kitchen window, apparently," Lucius dryly retorted.

"Yes, well, I gathered that," she retorted. "Mum. Mum-" Alecto placed her hands on the wispy woman's wrists to grab her attention, which was still directed entirely towards Lucius. "I'll take care of the soup for now, why don't you go into the living room an' chat with Joe or somethin'."

Alecto's mother gave an almost disappointed glance towards Lucius. "You're not goin' to introduce me to your handsome friend?"

"_Mum_."

"Actually, I was hoping to talk to Amycus," Lucius quickly interjected.

The wispy woman gave a disappointed sigh and turned to leave, while Alecto quickly added to her retreating figure, "An' tell Amycus to get over here."

"But Amycus is havin' such a pleasant conversation with Joe," she quietly replied.

"Just tell him," Alecto exasperatedly repeated before adding under her breath, "An' like hell he is."

A second later the kitchen door slammed open and Lucius heard Amycus's voice bellow, "I swear, Alecto, if I have to spend one second longer talking to that _bloody_ half-bl—Malfoy!" he abruptly cut himself off and adopted a more restrained volume. "What're you doin' here, Malfoy?"

"He's staring into Mum's kitchen window, evidently," Alecto dryly repeated.

"I—wha—_why?_" Amycus spluttered.

"Because I'm looking for Nott."

Alecto replied with an annoyed tut. "It's not like Nott's hidin' in our kitchen."

"Why are you looking for Nott?" Amycus frowned in confusion.

"Does it really matter?"

"If you care enough to spy on our kitchen then, yes, I'd like to know," he determinedly replied.

"Can I at least come in, then? It's rather cold out here."

"Fine. You can levitate yourself in through the window," Alecto stated matter-of-factly.

"I wasn't aware the front door was reserved for guests of honor," Lucius sarcastically replied.

"Unless you want Joe to see you, an' he'd floo the Aurors for sure. Doesn't like Death Eaters, much. It's just our mum who doesn't care about the Death Eaters either way."

"Lovely." Lucius levitated himself in through the window and made a show of brushing off his expensive robes. "Who's Joe?"

"Our step-father. He's in the dining room," Amycus jerked his head towards the closed door. "So what's the deal with Nott? Does the Dark Lord want him for something? Is there an attack tonight?" He surreptitiously checked his Dark Mark.

"No. Nothing like that. I need to see Nott because—"

Amycus held up a silencing finger. A man's voice was becoming louder, and Alecto and Amycus darkly exchanged worried frowns.

Lucius found himself being hurriedly shoved into a closet for the second time that day.

"Evenin', Joe," Alecto coldly greeted her step-father as he strode into the kitchen.

"Why's dinner taking so long?" he scowled.

"Maybe if you weren't distractin' us, it'd be ready faster," she retorted.

"What's that smell? Are you—dammit, are you burning the food?" He took a sudden step towards the two siblings, who flinched in unison.

Amycus was clenching his fists. "It'll be fine, Joe. Just go back to the dinin' room and chat with Mum or somethin' and don't worry 'bout it."

"You can't order me around, Amycus, I'm your father," he authoritatively retorted.

"Step-father," he hissed under his breath. The two glared at each other for a second longer before Joe turned on his heel, grumbling, and left the room. "I need a drink," Amycus promptly announced.

Lucius carefully extricated himself from the closet and made another show of brushing off his robes. "There's nothing alcoholic in the closet," he offered with as much dignity as someone who had just been shoved into a closet could manage.

"Please, like Joe would allow alcohol into the house," Alecto derisively reminded her brother.

"Yeah, well, I bet Mum has some hidden somewhere," Amycus smoothly rebutted, before he began opening all of the kitchen cabinets and drawers one-by-one.

"Not to intrude upon such—_pleasant_—family gatherings, but about Nott…" Lucius awkwardly prodded.

"Oh, yeah, Nott. Dunno where he is now," Alecto nonchalantly replied.

"Ditto. You'd probably be better off askin' a Death Eater's who's also on the run from the law. You lot stick together, don't you?" Amycus distractedly replied as he continued looking through the kitchen cabinets.

"I suppose I'll try that next," Lucius sighed between gritted teeth. At this rate, by the time he found Nott he would either kiss the man or wring his scrawny neck.

"When I helped Rookwood out of Azkaban he said he was plannin' to visit his brother Octavius, but he didn't specify when; I don't know how well they get along. But you could try askin' him."

"And his brother lives where?"

"He runs a Quality Quidditch Supplies store in Nürnberg or somethin'."

Nürnberg? That was in Bavaria and, Merlin, Lucius hated long-distance apparation. The "wring Nott's scrawny neck" possibility suddenly became more probable. "Any other leads?"

"I saw Avery goin' off with Mulciber," Alecto offered. "He said somethin' about hiding out outside of Prague."

Lucius groaned. _Prague?_ That was even further away than Nürnberg. "Fine, I'll try Rookwood, then Avery." With as much dignity as he could muster, Lucius climbed out of the Carrows' window and apparated away.

…

A/N: Contrary to my last Author's Note, I think I actually won't be able to update the 24th or the 25th of December, but after that daily updates will resume. Other notes: Nürnberg is the German spelling of Nuremburg, a city in the German state of Bavaria. Also, the Carrows' family life is borrowed from my story "The Boy of Salt and Stone" and my (as of yet unpublished) one-shot "A Thousand Paper Cranes", although this chapter isn't canon-compliant with "The Boy of Salt and Stone". (Otherwise the conversation between Lucius and the Carrow siblings would be considerably more awkward, haha.)


	5. Rookwood

A/N: Octavius Rookwood is an OC of mine that is the younger brother of the Death Eater Augustus Rookwood (Augustus was arrested at the end of the First War). Nürnberg is a city in Germany.

…

It was the only store on Nürnberg's famed wizard shopping street that still had its storefront torches lit. It was a small, quaint-looking store, with wooden cross-hatching and a wide window that displayed flittering snitches, ricocheting bludgers, and hovering brooms. In the backroom, Octavius Rookwood was rolling up the day's parchment, tallying all of the purchases made and the remaining inventory. Business was always good around Christmas, and although the Dark Lord had risen again back home in Britain, the ensuing panic and economic crisis had not yet reached Bavaria, ensuring a large number of customers.

With a content sigh, he made his way to the front of the store, lovingly straightening a few of the displays as he did so. A rustling noise caught his ear and he paused for a second before deciding it was likely just the sound of his robes swishing as he made his way around the store, centering a quaffle, polishing a snitch, rubbing a spot of dust off of a broom handle. But, no—there was the sound again and he could feel his heart beating against his ribcage because there _was someone else _in the store and what sort of low-down scum would break-into a store on Christmas?

"_Ich höre einen Dieb!_" he bellowed, the slight quiver to his voice giving away his fear at actually encountering the thief. What if the thief wasn't above using violence? "_Ich—ich_ _könnte Ihnen bringen um—_I mean, dammit,_ ich könnte Ihnen umbringen. _I mean—wait, is it _Ihnen_ or _Sie_? Merlin! _Ich. Könnte. __Sie. Umbringen." _The rustling sounds seemed to be becoming more distant. "Yeah, that's right! I'll scare you away with my bad German grammar!" he proclaimed before quipping under his breath in self-defense, "It's hard trying to learn a second language."

It didn't even seem like the rustling sounds were retreating anymore, though. They were becoming louder, more distinct, it was the sound of footsteps now, not just rustling, someone was approaching him and _ohdearMerlin_ he could see the thief's shadow now—

"Expelliarmus!" Octavius hastily blurted out. His poorly-aimed spell didn't even approach the man, instead knocking a quaffle from a display and sending it ricocheting around the room. The thief—the shadow—was running along one of the aisles now and Octavius turned and the thief was _there_ and he hastily cast a stinging jinx.

"Ow, what the hell, Octavius?"

Octavius stopped at the man's words, his wand slightly raised, as he struggled to place the hoarse yet sing-songy voice.

"Augustus?"

"Geez! Why are you attacking me?" Augustus pulled himself into a more straightened posture, tenderly massaging his ribs.

"Because I—I—" Octavius unblinkingly looked up and down his brother's wiry frame. "_Me?_ What are you doing breaking into my store!"

"I wanted to see if you were still here—"

"And you've never heard of a doorbell?"

"I didn't know it was you who was closing up shop, though. It could have been one of your employees," he carelessly explained with a wave of his hand, before examining the small dimensions of the store more carefully. "If you even need any employees, I suppose."

Octavius frowned and retorted with a mildly offended air, "I get plenty of business here. Of course I can afford to employee a few other people."

"Well, see, that's just it. When I heard an angry voice yelling at me in German my first assumption was that it was one of your employees. Although, come to think of it, for all I know, you could have been yelling at that errant quaffle."

"It wasn't errant. I was trying to disarm you," he stubbornly replied.

"Er—really? Maybe you should get your hearing checked, because I was pretty far away from that quaffle—"

Octavius cut him off through gritted teeth. "I know. My spell missed because unlike _you_ I haven't dedicated my life to casting offensive charms, and dueling and—and—"

He fell silent and Augustus muttered under his breath, "Maybe you should if your aim's that bad."

Octavius stubbornly ignored him and plodded onwards. "What are you doing here, brother? I know you're wanted by the British aurors."

A mildly surprised expression appeared on Augustus's face. "I already told you. I wanted to see you."

"No, I meant what's the _real_ reason," he harshly interrupted.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"There's always a real reason with you." Octavius took a step forward and continued speaking with a tinge of impatient anger. "You were nice to Slughorn so you could get into the Slug Club, you helped out the 'ickle First Years' so McGonagall would appoint you Head Boy, you joined the bloody Death Eaters so you would get Ministry of Magic promotions more quickly!"

"You can't deny it worked pretty magnificently. Except for the whole getting thrown in Azkaban part."

"So, what? You broke out of Azkaban just to see me?" he sarcastically asked.

"Actually, Azkaban is unpleasant enough that Azkaban itself is a reason to break out of Azkaban," he casually countered.

"Fine. So you break out of Azkaban to insult the size of my store and my aim and—and—" he spluttered and Augustus put a hand on each of his shoulders before giving him a serious look.

"Octavius. Calm down."

"I haven't seen you in 15 bloody years! You're an escaped criminal! How did you expect me to react?"

Augustus weakly chuckled. "A bit better than this, I admit."

"Yeah, well, looks like you guessed wrong."

"Listen. I know we haven't always gotten along as best as we could've, but I meant what I said about my coming out here to visit you. Christmas is supposed to be for family and, besides, aren't I supposed to look out for my little brother?"

Octavius let out a hiccup of laughter. "I'm hardly little anymore."

"You know what I mean," Augustus waved a hand before adding more seriously, "So no bickering? Just Christmas together?"

Octavius hesitated for a second before smiling and holding out his hand. "Yeah, alright." At the warm look on Augustus's face, he added in a mock serious voice, "But if you hug me I'm going to have to slap you."

"I never said anything about hugging you." Augustus laughed as they shook hands, before pausing. "What about a manly hug?"

"No."

Augustus laughed again and they walked out of the store together. Octavius glanced up at the heavily snowing sky and spoke, "We can go back to my place. I'll cook Nürnberger Bratwürste_ oder so_—I mean, or something. Can't get more local than that."

Augustus glanced behind them and noticed a cloaked figure walking behind them. He was too distant to clearly see the man's face, and he turned his attention back to Octavius instead. "That sounds good. I'll try to help you as much as-I thought you said no hugging!"

Octavius laughed, and with a crack the two brothers had disapparated. After several minutes, the cloaked figure finally reached the front of Octavius's Quality Quidditch Supplies store, grumbling with every step he had to trudge through the snow.

"Dammit Nott, if I don't find you soon," he muttered, pulling back the hood of his cloak to reveal a pointed nose and long blond hair. "Doesn't even look like anyone's in the store. I must've just missed Rookwood," Lucius mused allowed as he peered through the window. "Who was the other person I was going to ask about Nott? Avery, was it?" With another crack, Lucius had disapparated.

…

A/N Translations:

_Ich höre einen Dieb = _I hear a thief

_Ich_ _könnte Ihnen bringen um/Ich könnte Ihnen umbringen/Ich könnte Sie umbringen _= I could kill you (where only the last version is grammatically correct)

_Nürnberger Bratwürste_ = a type of sausage, named after the city of Nürnberg

_oder so_ = or something


	6. Avery & Mulciber

A/N: As the Death Eaters Avery and Mulciber have no canon first names, I've given Avery the first name Alton and Mulciber the first name Michael. According to canon, Mulciber went to Azkaban after the first war, while Avery did not.

…

Mulciber was the only person Avery knew who could pass through a 16 year Azkaban sentence looking as young as he had the day he was arrested. Unlike the other Death Eaters who had been arrested at the end of the First War-whose postures had become wracked and stooped with the burden of a thousand horrid memories, whose faces had melted into wrinkled, gaunt masses-Mulciber's footsteps had remained naively energetic, and his face had retained its fresh, youthful air. There were, of course, a few other factors that caused Mulciber to appear exceptionally young, one of which was his uncanny ability to perfectly imitate a spoiled four-year old's whining cry.

"Aaaaaallllton, I'm huuuungryyyy."

Avery sighed, repositioning himself against the wall of the cave that was serving as their current hideout, before replying, "We ate yesterday."

"Exactly. _Yesterday_." Mulciber, who had been lying against the cave's moist stone floor and staring up at the mossy ceiling, scrambled into a sitting position to regard the other man. "D'you not see anything wrong with that?"

"Given that we're wanted criminals, it's probably the best we can do."

"Where's your Slytherin ambition?" Mulciber smirked, lazily stretching his arms in the air before lying back down. "I nominate you to get food."

"Me? I got food last time," Avery stated with a mildly exasperated tone.

"What about that squirrel I caught this morning, eh?" He waggled his eyebrows and gave a hopeful grin. "That's got to count for something."

"Michael. You burnt it to crisp trying to cook it."

"You know what they say about charcoal being…filled with…nutrients…or something. So you see, I was just looking out for our health." Mulciber confidently finished, before shifting his weight again, so that he was now lying on his stomach with his face propped in his hands. "Come on, pleeeaaase can you get food?"

For a moment Avery determinedly looked over Mulciber's head, but even out of the periphery of his vision he could see Mulciber's wide, hopeful eyes and feel a melting softness somewhere behind his ribcage. "Fine, I'll get food." Mulciber's face split into a toothy grin. "Tomorrow, when it's light out." Mulciber frowned.

"Y'know, I still don't get why you don't just ask Snape if we can live at his house. It's not like he's using it what with being a _Hogwarts professor_ and all, and then we'd have food and a kitchen and beds and an actual roof over our heads."

"Pettigrew's living there."

"So? We could kick him out. He's certainly not friends with Severus, not like we are."

Avery sighed and rubbed his hands over his face. If anyone in the Department of Mysteries had wanted to learn how to freeze time—perhaps Rookwood, if he hadn't joined the Death Eaters in the first place—all they would have to do is study Mulciber and his sixteen year-long stay in Azkaban. The man—_boy_, really—seemed to have emerged without any sense that time had passed since the beginning of his sentence.

"Severus and I haven't talked in years," Avery wearily explained. "Hogwarts was a long time ago and when you're sharing all of your classes with someone, and living with them, and fighting in Death Eater battles with them, you think you're good friends. Once all of those things disappear, though, sometimes you realize you never had that much tying you together in the first place."

Mulciber, the 19-year old boy in his thirties, was regarding him with only a semi-comprehending look. "I s'pose. But we'll always be friends." He leaned back again and continued to idly gaze up at the moss-covered rocks, while Avery silently regarded his delicate, quiet face. "Would've been nice if we could've had a Christmas feast or something."

"It's—" Avery abruptly cut himself off to quickly perform a bit of mental arithmetic. "You're right; it is Christmas."

"It could be your Christmas gift to me!" Mulciber energetically sat up straight again, his eyes shining.

"I—well—" Merlin, Mulciber could look downright adorable when he tried, and Avery was certain Mulciber was trying right now. "Oh, alright," he relented, immediately feeling more cheerful. "But then you have to give me a Christmas gift, too."

"Name it."

"Anything? You promise?" Avery asked, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

"Anything."

"You have to come with me to get the food."

"I—aw, dammit." Avery's grin widened even further. If he was going to spend time going into the city to get food, after all, he figured it'd be more enjoyable to spend that time with Mulciber. "If I have to venture out into the snow and the cold, can we at least go see a Christmas Market while we're at it?" Mulciber added.

Avery shrugged. "Sure. I was planning to go to Prague to get food, since it's only a few kilometers from us. There's a Christmas Market in the Old Town Square we can go see. It's been there for a while, though, so you've probably already seen it whenever you've gone into town to get food." Mulciber began whistling innocently. "You have gone into town to get food in the past month, haven't you?"

Mulciber energetically threw an arm around Avery's shoulder. "Hey! Check out those stars! Can't see stars like that in London, can we?"

"You haven't gotten food for us in a month?" Avery exclaimed at the evasion.

"But it's always so cold out and I hate the cold and, besides, you're so much better at it than I am, Alton," Mulciber whined. "I can't figure out those Muggle markets we steal food from and I always end up pilfering boxes of salt or something inedible like that." The man did have a point, Avery supposed. The numerous boxes of salt and flour that Mulciber had accidentally stolen were still resting in the back of their cave.

By the time they arrived at Old Town Square, Mulciber, making various proclamations about how he hated the cold, had managed to commandeer two of the three coats Avery was wearing. "You know, there are these things called heating charms, Michael—"

"Don't like them," came his words, muffled behind the coats' collars. "They always make my wrists too warm." Upon reaching the square, Mulciber stopped mid-step, gazing at the strings of glittering yellow lights draped across the small, red-roofed stands of the Christmas Market.

It was on the tip of Avery's tongue to remind him that they shouldn't spend too long standing still in any one place—they were wanted criminals, after all—but then he noticed the corners of Mulciber's eyes crinkling into a smile, and he decided to hold his tongue for just a few seconds longer.

"Michael…" he gently started.

"Yeah, yeah, I know. No staying in one place too long." He turned towards Avery, and the corners of his eyes crinkled again, ever so slightly. "So where's the best Muggle market to rob?"

The golden lights from the square were reflecting off of Mulciber's dark eyes, and for a second Avery forgot his next sentence. Tearing his gaze away, he finally jerked his head towards one side of the square. "There's one pretty close by we can go to, bordering the Vltava River."

They slunk away from the brightly lit square, twisting their way through the winding streets that led away from the Old Town. They were on a particularly vacant street when Mulciber casually leaned closer, and imperceptibly breathed in Avery's ear, "Don't look now, but someone's following us."

Avery felt as though ice was crawling across his torso. Of all his excursions into the city, he had so far managed to avoid anyone that recognized him as an escaped criminal, but it seemed that lucky streak had just come to an abrupt end. Apparate away quickly, Avery decided. Erase any trails and move to another city, no, another country. That would be the best way to avoid imprisonment, by far the safest, most rational—

"_Incendio!_" Avery jumped at Mulciber's suddenly bellowed word, and turned in time to see him sending a swath of fire towards a single cloaked figure.

A bright blue curve expanded from the figure and immediately extinguished the fire.

"Michael!" Avery hissed warningly, grabbing the other man's arm in an attempt to pull him away from the duel.

Mulciber turned towards Avery and grinned in response, "Come on, just a bit of fun." A second later, Mulciber had fallen to his knees and begun coughing, clutching his chest.

"Michael!" Avery exclaimed again and, scolding himself for distracting Mulciber from the duel, firmly grabbed his shoulder in preparation to side-along apparate.

"No, wait!" The cloaked figure called, and Avery hesitated for a second. The voice seemed familiar, and when the man approached closer, he recognized it as Lucius Malfoy.

"Malfoy! What did you do to Michael?"

"It's not lethal; I just wanted to distract you from apparating away. It'll wear off in a few minutes," Lucius explained in a light voice. Mulciber responded with a choice hand gesture and another bout of coughing, and Lucius glanced at him again. "Should I ask why you're wearing Avery's coats, Mulciber?"

"Cold," Mulciber coughed.

"I see. You know, there are these things called heating charms—"

Mulciber repeated the choice hand gesture, and Avery directed his next words to Malfoy with an annoyed frown. "What exactly is so important that you couldn't wait until the next Death Eater meeting to talk with us?"

"I'm looking for Nott, and Carrow said you two might know where he is."

"Nott—Dolohov—with—us," Mulciber wheezingly coughed.

"Nott's with you?" Lucius excitedly exclaimed. "Where? Tell me where!"

"Nott and Dolohov _were_ staying with us," Avery added in. "But about a month ago Nott and Dolohov split off from us. Nott said something about having family in the British Isles, so I think he wanted to be closer to home."

Lucius groaned and began rubbing his temples. "Any idea where?"

Avery heaved Mulciber, who had nearly stopped coughing, into a standing position and brushed the snow off of his shoulders. "I think—Bristol? Bristol sounds right."

Lucius gave an annoyed exhalation. _More_ long-distance apparation. "Fine. Thank you." With a crack, he had disapparated.

Mulciber turned towards Avery. "Food? Finally?"

"Yes, let's go find ourselves a Christmas feast," Avery smiled.

…

A/N: I don't believe I've said this before, but I thought I should mention that the characterizations I have of the various Death Eaters in this story are intended to be realistic. That is, I visualize there being a fair amount of variety among their personalities, where some would be more laid-back (e.g. Gibbon and Rowle) than others (e.g. Yaxley and Selwyn). In this one-shot specifically, Mulciber is rather immature because he was sent to Azkaban when he was 19, which stunted his maturation.

That being said, I'd be curious to hear your opinions on my characterization of Avery and Mulciber :)


	7. Nott & Dolohov

A/N: While all of these one-shots can stand alone, this one in particular will make the most sense if you've read all of the previous chapters.

…

"Okay. If the next spark from the fire flies in your direction, then you drink. If it flies in my direction, I drink."

"Aren't we past the age for drinking games, Dolohov?" Nott sighed as he morosely gazed into their campfire.

"If you have any better idea of what to do on Christmas with a fire and a bottle of firewhisky, be my guest."

Nott pensively started, "I remember when I was a Hogwarts student, some of the older students used to play spin-the-bottle during the winter holidays, in front of the Common Room fire with a bottle of firewhisky."

Dolohov promptly spat out the firewhisky he was drinking. "I am _not_ playing spin-the-bottle with you, Nott."

"What? I wasn't suggesting—"

"There is not enough alcohol in this world for me to play spin-the-bottle with you," Dolohov vehemently reasserted, taking another swig of firewhisky.

"I wasn't suggesting we play spin-the-bottle," Nott exasperatedly finished his sentence. "You asked me what people did on Christmas with fire and firewhisky, so I was simply giving you an example."

"No, I asked what _we_ could do—"

"No you didn't, you asked—"

"No, I—"

"Listen, I'm the one who's been married—"

"Twice—"

"Yes, twice, and—" Nott cut himself off with a sigh. "You know what, pass the firewhisky."

"That's more like it." Dolohov took another swig before tossing the bottle towards Nott with a sloshing sound.

Nott made a sweeping gesture with the bottle of firewhisky. "Do you remember that time at Hogwarts when Owen Nex accidentally tripped and spilled his pumpkin juice on the Headmaster's robes?"

Dolohov shook his head. "That must have been before I was at Hogwarts. What about the time Eric Sigourney punched Myron Nex in the middle of the Great Hall? I've never seen so many professors move so quickly."

Nott laughed. "Slughorn's expression at seeing a plain old Hufflepuff punch one of his top Slug Club members was hilarious."

"A Hufflepuff? I thought Sigourney was a Ravenclaw?"

"Wait, are you sure?"

"Ah, hell if I still remember. Look, a spark flew my direction. That means I get the firewhisky." Dolohov swiped the bottle from Nott's hands.

"Yes, because _that'll_ help you remember better."

"Well, at least it'll keep me from getting frost-bite."

"I don't think that's how the warm feeling from alcohol works, Dolohov."

"Oh, shush. I—wait, do you hear something?"

The two men fell silent, before Nott chuckled, "Maybe it's the blood pounding in your ears from too much firewhisky."

"No, I mean it, Nott. I think I heard—"

"BLOODY HELL NOTT, THERE YOU ARE!"

Nott and Dolohov both jumped at the sudden sight of Lucius Malfoy standing behind them.

"Er—hello, Malfoy?" Nott timidly offered. "Is there somewhere else I was supposed to be?"

"You have—no—idea," Lucius panted and for a moment Nott thought the man looked quite mad.

"Is there a meeting tonight? Does the Dark Lord—"

"You have no idea," Lucius loudly repeated, "What I have done trying to find you."

"Am I particularly hard to find?" Nott asked, a baffled expression on his face, but Lucius continued without acknowledging the words.

"I've searched three separate countries, almost been set on fire, been shoved into no fewer than two closets, been hit on by the Carrows' mother,had to defend my hair against sparkly pink ribbons, and meet all of Yaxley's family—_do you know how much family that man has?—_just to find you."

Dolohov and Nott blinked at Lucius, before Dolohov uttered, "Yesh, the Carrows' mother? I think you need a drink" and tossed the bottle of firewhiskey towards Lucius.

Clutching the bottle, Lucius sank to a sitting position and muttered, "You have no idea."

"See, a spark even just flew your direction, so that means you earned a swig," Nott helpfully offered.

"What do sparks have to do with—"

"Trust me, it's either that or playing spin-the-bottle," Dolohov interrupted. Lucius gave the man a confused look, before deciding that maybe he just didn't want to know.

"What do you think, Malfoy? Was Eric Sigourney in Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff?" Nott started conversationally, while the other man stared into the fire with an exhausted expression on his face.

"Who?" Lucius frowned and sniffed the bottle of firewhisky in his hands.

"Eric Sigourney. He was a boy of around my age at Hogwarts."

Lucius gave a snorted laugh. "Nott. You're old enough to be my father. Unless any of your classmates are particularly famous, I won't have a clue."

"Fair enough," he shrugged.

"Oi, if you're not going to take a drink, at least don't hog the bottle," Dolohov scolded Lucius.

"We should get going anyway," Lucius stated matter-of-factly, climbing to his feet as he tossed the bottle back to Dolohov.

"Er—'we'?" Nott inquired nervously.

"Yes, Nott, you're coming with me."

"Did the Dark Lord—"

"No, we're not going to see the Dark Lord and, frankly, I'm too tired from all of the long-distance apparation to explain more than that," Lucius sighed, firmly grasping Nott's upper-arm.

"Wait, but—" Nott's protest was cut off by the _crack!_ sound of Lucius forcing a side-along apparation.

Dolohov shrugged at the now-empty space around the fire. "More firewhisky for me, I suppose."

…

A/N: There's one chapter of this story left, where it'll finally be resolved just why Lucius has been looking for Nott so determinedly. Also, the OCs of Eric Sigourney, Owen Nex and Myron Nex are borrowed from a story of mine on another account. Thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far!


	8. Draco & Theo &Snape&Narcissa&Lestranges

"Black or white?" Draco asked as he methodically began setting up the chess board.

After a pensive second, Theo replied, "Black."

Draco frowned and hastily said, "Er—well, you know we should really randomize it, come to think of it. Here, I'll put a piece of each color in my hand, and then you pick one." He plucked two pawns from the board and put one in each hand, mixing them behind his back before presenting his two closed fists to Theo.

"The left one."

Draco opened his fist to reveal a black pawn and immediately frowned before stuttering, "Well, I mean, it really only counts if we do two out of three. Let's try it with the bishops instead."

"You just picked up two white bishops, Draco," Theo casually interrupted.

"Er—I did, didn't I? Funny that," Draco said, before picking up a black and a white bishop with a quick glare at Theo.

"Listen, if you want to be black, Draco—"

"Well, I mean if you don't want to," Draco trailed off with a wide grin before promptly spinning the board so the white pieces were facing Theo and the black pieces were facing himself. "White goes first; your move."

"Pawn to A4," Theo promptly began.

"Pawn to F5."

"Rook to A3."

"Bishop to A3."

Theo frowned as Draco's bishop swung its arm out and knocked over his rook, unceremoniously dragging it off the edge of the board. "Your chess pieces are awfully violent for wizarding chess," Theo replied, before resting his chin on his hand and pensively looking at the different chess pieces. He continued regarding the chess board, before nonchalantly continuing, "I'm surprised your aunt and uncle are here. And your uncle-like-person."

"My 'uncle-like-person'?" Draco snorted. "If you don't know the proper term for how Rabastan is related to me, you can just call him by his name. And it's Christmas; where else would they be? Hurry up and make your move."

"I just meant that since they're all escaped Azkaban prisoners. Most Azkaban escapees can't even owl anyone for risk of being caught, much less visit civilization." Theo glanced towards Rodolphus, who was sitting on the other side of the room with a Daily Prophet in front of him. "Knight to A3."

Draco shot Theo a peeved look as his white knight clobbered Draco's bishop and dragged it to lie with the other defeated chess piece. "I guess our house has enough security charms on it that we don't have to worry. Pawn to C6."

"Why don't you invite more people over, then?" Theo asked in a forcibly casual tone, determinedly looking at the board as he spoke. "Pawn to C3."

"You mean the other Slytherins in our year? Just because our house is secure, doesn't mean I fancy broadcasting to the entire student body that the Lestranges are staying with us. Pawn to B5."

A nearly imperceptible crease was lining Theo's forehead when he next spoke. "I wasn't really thinking of students. It's just, when I received your owl inviting me for Christmas dinner I thought—I thought there might be other people here. Pawn to B5."

Draco frowned slightly as Theo's pawn dragged his from the board, before smiling as his pawn took the previously conquering pawn from the board. "Pawn to B5. And I don't know what's got your knickers in a knot, because you were going on about other guests earlier, too, but there _are_ other people here—all of the Lestranges and Snape."

"I didn't mean it that way," Theo said irritably, as though Draco was missing a rather obvious point. "I meant that maybe I was thinking there might be another Azkaban escapee here who I would've liked to see, because I haven't seen him in a while."

"No, I already told you; it's just us and the Lestranges. And Snape. Hey, what happened to our defeated chess pieces?" Draco abruptly stated, glancing towards the side of the chess board where there defeated pieces had been gathering.

Theo looked around the perimeter of the chess board with a surprised expression on his face, before stubbornly stating, "But they were just here."

"Evidently not anymore," Draco said dryly. He dropped on all fours to examine the ground around the table more carefully, and Theo shortly followed suit.

"The pieces have green-colored bases, right? It looks like they went that way, judging by the narrow green stain." Theo pointed to the kitchen door on the other side of the room.

"Oh, great, we stained the carpet. Now I have to worry about my Mother having my head for staining her carpet, as though worrying about death at the hands of the Dark Lord isn't enough," Draco grumbled under his breath.

The kitchen was full of bustling people, accompanied with the smell of burning food. "Merlin!" Draco exclaimed upon catching sight of a roast which both Narcissa and Rabastan were pensively regarding.

"What is it, dear?" Narcissa said, glancing towards Draco.

"Uh, nothing. The roast looks delicious," Draco replied, glancing between the charcoal black roast and his mother.

"It's a bit burnt," Narcissa replied lightly. She tapped the blackened roast with a finger and it made a clunking noise. "We'll fix it, though."

"What if we cut away the outer layers?" Rabastan said, still thoughtfully regarding the roast.

"That could work, but the inner layers are undercooked," Narcissa replied with a frown.

Theo tugged slightly on the shoulder of Draco's robes, before muttering a reminder, "Chess pieces?"

"Right," Draco nodded, and the two boys began examining the various kitchen counters and drawers for any signs of the missing chess pieces.

They finally reached the other end of the kitchen, where Snape and Bellatrix were stonily glaring at each other. An angrily bubbling pot of stew was boiling nearby, which Bellatrix gestured to when she sneered, "I'm surprised you're not being more enthusiastic about helping, Snape. Cooking is just like brewing a potion, after all."

"Brewing is an art. Cooking is not," Snape retorted, his upper lip curling in disdain. "Besides, I believe Narcissa said she wanted her _sister_'s help with making the stew."

"I'm sure she would be just as happy if you made it. It's only fair for her _old friend_ from Hogwarts to pull his weight in preparing Christmas dinner," Bellatrix returned the sneer, before continuing in a mock sweet tone, "Go on, start chopping up the vegetables. I'm sure the cutlery is just waiting to be used."

"I can think of several uses for that cutlery right now," Snape replied coldly.

Draco and Theo were awkwardly standing by the side, hesitantly glancing between the two adults. Wondering if they should re-inspect another section of the kitchen for the lost chess pieces, Draco glanced away from Snape and Bellatrix towards the cutlery laid out on the counter.

"Hey, our chess pieces!" Draco cheerily exclaimed, earning turned his heads from everyone else in the kitchen. He plucked the squirming, bickering chess pieces from the cutlery and held them out to Theo. "I should've known they'd be there."

"I hope you're not mistreating the chess pieces I leant you, Draco," Bellatrix interrupted, drumming her fingers on the kitchen counter.

"No, Aunt Bellatrix, they just got carried away a bit," Draco replied politely, quickly leaving the kitchen with Theo.

"Why do your chess pieces like playing with knives?" Theo asked, a puzzled look on his face.

"They're my Aunt Bellatrix's chess pieces," Draco said, as though that explained everything. Theo blinked at him, the puzzled expression still on his face, while Draco nonchalantly continued, "I can't remember—was it your turn or my turn?"

"My turn, I think," Theo said, sliding into his seat behind the chess board.

Draco frowned slightly. "Actually, just to make it fair, maybe we should flip a coin to decide—"

"Would you like it to be your turn, Draco?"

"Well, I mean, if you don't care—" Draco cheerfully began. "Pawn to D5."

The two boys continued their chess game, before it finally drew to a stalemate and they began a new game. They had been playing for some time when Narcissa entered and addressed the three people sitting in the room. "Dinner's ready, Draco. Theo, Rodolphus." She glanced around the room again before adding, "I thought Lucius was in this room. Do any of you know where he's gone to?"

"He went out a while ago," Rodolphus spoke. "It sounded like he had an errand to run or something."

"Well, let's wait until he gets back before starting dinner," Narcissa said distractedly, a worried frown creasing her brow.

Draco and Theo completed another two chess games before Bellatrix lightly touched Narcissa on the arm and said, "I'm sure Lucius would understand if we began without him."

With a sigh, Narcissa gestured them towards the dining room table. She had barely begun serving the burnt, undercooked roast when there was the distant ringing sound of the front door's security wards being activated. "Oh, maybe that's Lucius!" Narcissa brightly exclaimed, walking towards the front of the manor. After a moment of indecisiveness, Draco decided that he ought to also greet his father and followed, while Theo uncertainly looked between the Lestranges and Snape and quickly decided he would rather follow Draco than be left alone with them.

Lucius had barely stepped inside the house when Narcissa tightly embraced him and demanded with a worried frown, "Where were you?"

"I was out getting Theo's Christmas gift," he replied, giving the surprised Theo a slight nod.

"Theo's here?" A man's voice from behind Lucius said ecstatically.

Stepping aside, Lucius ushered the man in Theo's direction as Theo joyfully exclaimed, "Father!"

A small smile spread across Lucius's face as the two Notts hugged each other. "Merry Christmas, Theo."

…

A/N: This is officially the end of "Eight Death Eater Christmases". I was trying to imply at the beginning of this one-shot that Theo was hoping to see his father the escaped Azkaban prisoner at the Malfoy's house, so definitely let me know if that's not clear and I'll fix it.

For those of you who have favorited or put this story on story-alert, I would love to hear from you, even in just a two-word review!


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